


A Girl Needs a Gun These Days

by ViaLethe



Category: Firefly
Genre: Action/Adventure, Community: girlsavesboyfic, Female Friendship, Gen, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing rich kid, a kidnapped Captain, a house full of fake Companions, and one redheaded con-artist - it's all in a day's work for the ladies of Serenity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. River

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-BDM  
> Disclaimer: Words are mine, world ain't.
> 
> a/n: For girlsavesboyfic 2011.

**_I. River_**  
Sitting on the steps of the cargo bay, River watches worry spread through _Serenity_ , creeping over her floor like a cloud, chilling River's ankles, bare beneath the hem of her dress.

On the outside, the job the Captain laid out for them the night before hadn't seemed to hold much threat – a rich man's rich son had run off with, in his words, a woman of the _wrong sort_. Usually a thing like that wouldn't be of interest to anyone outside the family, as Kaylee had pointed out (River knew she was thinking of a boy she'd run off with when she was fifteen, and how shamed they'd been when the boy's daddy dragged them both back home). But then there was the note.

“Seems our man Mr Torsten received this three days ago, and he's dead certain it's genuine,” Mal had said, setting the data sheet out on the table. “Still can't get the proper authorities to take him seriously, so he's turned to us instead.”

River had looked at the note, lying innocent and shining on their table that spoke of family, and knew that they would take the job; knew without reading, because the phrasing filled her mind too much to need it.

All the note said was: _It isn't what it seems. Get me out._ It was signed by Ned Torsten, and so he'd become their target, a rich Core kid of nineteen, here on a planet of dust paved over with cobblestones, trying to make itself appear more than it was.

 _Crazy paving_ , River thinks. _Use everything to hand to fill in spaces_. Her space is on the ship; always on the ship now, always ready to fly at whatever notice Mal can manage to give her. So she sits, watching and thinking, her own thread of anxiety twisting around others, knotting itself up in Zoe's inner assessment of threats, in Jayne's mental inventory of the mobile armory he's strapped to himself.

Mal, strangely enough, is giving off no anxiety at all, and she's about to go off and seek him out, make certain he's not ignoring risks once more when his hand appears in front of her face, offering her a gun.

“Arm up,” he says, when she makes no move to accept it. “Need you with us today.” Her boots drop to the grating with a thud beside her, fallen from Mal's other hand. “Left those lyin' around again. How many times I gotta tell you, they belong on your feet.”

“They belong where I put them. Can't speak properly to _Serenity_ with them on.” Still, she pulls them on, feeling the worry-chill flee from her ankles, chased away by leather and buckles and the assurance that this time, she will not be left behind.

“Be that as it may,” says Mal, watching her carefully, “figured we might be needin' you on this job, suss out where and what our kid's gotten himself into.”

“And if we need a quick getaway?” Zoe asks, looking up from where she's been prepping the mule, practical details well in hand.

“Like as not kid's just gotten himself stuck here when his lady love found somebody she liked better,” Mal says. “Or maybe he's tired of her and ain't got the means to get himself off planet. Any case, I ain't expecting to come up against anything worse'n a jilted prairie bride.”

“Curves are very sound engineering,” River tells him, climbing aboard the mule. “Pliable and balanced, bend but don't break.”

“Kaylee!” Mal yells, taking his place on the mule, waiting for his mechanic to bounce her way out of Inara's shuttle. “Ship's yours, try to keep her on the ground and not, you know, on fire or anything 'til we get back. And you,” he says lower, turning to River, “can save your lecture on architecture 'til then.”

“You have harsh angles,” she says. “Stiff planes. They'll get you in trouble.”

“Lucky thing I got you to help me out of it, right?” he asks, and then Jayne climbs on and there's no more time for talk, just the brace of her feet out in front, set firm against the whiplash of Mal's driving.

***

The main street in town confuses River, until she twists her perspective around enough to see, and everything clicks; this is a border town made to Core expectations, a town with _saloons_ instead of bars, an abundance of horses and tubes that will glow neon by night, and a lack of metal that simply makes River feel the world is made paper-thin.

“We stand out,” she says to Zoe, as they loiter near the door of the latest tavern, trying to look engrossed in posters advertising the virtues of the ladies of Madame Zha-Zha's Pleasure House. River's hands itch to correct the inherent paradox, but she lacks a pen, and anyhow, her growing sense of normality tells her graffiti is not the path to an inconspicuous appearance. She turns away to avoid temptation, and sighs. “We're reality within fiction. This place is warped, poorly refracted through a lens.”

“Shoulda brought along that fancy bonnet Captain took a liking to,” Zoe says dryly, watching a pair of women pass them on the planks of the sidewalk, feet echoing like hooves under flowery skirts. “How they gettin' on in there?” she asks, indicating the bar with a tilt of her eyes.

River blinks, letting her world blur, and then she sees flashes; smoke and haze, Mal and Jayne. Mal watching everything and nothing, Jayne watching blonde curls and white shoulders, Jayne watching the annoyed expression on Mal's face as the Captain hisses, “We're here to _work_ , Jayne, not for you to get some play.”

She smiles, focusing again on Zoe, clear and sharp, waiting with steady patience. “They are both themselves. Nothing yet.”

“Looking more and more like nobody in this town's seen our man, or least like they're not willin' to talk about it if they have. Might be making more use of your talents to find him if this keeps up.”

“Many notes,” River says, shaking her head. “A cacophony of symphonies, hard to pick out one instrument. Need a melody to listen for.” Zoe just raises an eyebrow at River's fractured patterns, and nods.

River doesn't explain, because she can't, not really, the way Zoe both settles her and sets her on edge, the unruffled nature of Zoe's thoughts contrasting with an innate wariness and a wish – buried too deep down for her to articulate, if not too deep for River to see – that River had never been. It's been a long time since Miranda; long enough for River to discover that in some cases, time moves in circles and some wounds won't ever fully heal, the two of them always catching on each other's edges, hurting all over again without intent. So Zoe tears her up inside with a conflict of happy-sad, and looking at River reminds Zoe of too many things, and this is a broken thing River's not sure can ever be fixed.

She might just be able to prove herself worthy on this job though, because suddenly she _does_ hear something odd, a whisper like a snake in the grass, hissing knowledge, forbidden and familiar. “Wait here,” she murmurs to Zoe, slipping across the street, in and out of foot traffic until she stands before a building more elegant than most, pillars and white paint and a sign proclaiming it The Temple, smaller print beneath declaring, _Companion services available_.

“Lies,” River says, quiet and secret for her own ears as the hissing undercurrent in her thoughts grows louder. “Liar. _Thief_.”

She has just enough time, as the establishment's door opens, to turn away, making her way back to Zoe with calm and purpose, not looking behind to track the flash of fire-bright hair. Too red now to be Saffron, she thinks. Poppy, maybe, or Scarlet. Bright red like blood.

“Did you see her?” she asks, stopping beside Zoe once more, though the question hardly needs to be asked, the way Zoe's eyes are tracking through the crowd.

“Oh yeah. And I'm thinking that's no coincidence. Where that woman goes, trouble follows.”

“ _We_ should follow,” River says, tugging Zoe along by her elbow, clinging to her side, trying to look like daughter-sister-friend. Anything innocent.

“She know where our target's at?” Zoe asks, watching Saffron pick through the wares at a fruit stall, the colors bright and sharp and pretty like the woman herself.

“I don't know,” River admits, slowly. “Thoughts are all of...fruit. And sex. And – oh. I don't think fruit is supposed to go _there_ ,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Can't hear everything at once,” she explains, off Zoe's look of _I-don't-really-want-to-know_. “It made my behavior unacceptable. That's what Simon's medications are for. Still...”

Still, focusing hard, there's something there, under the fruit, and the plans for the fruit, under the fancy purple silk she's wearing, under the facade of Companion training Saffron's relying on now – there are flashes of _boy_ , and _platinum_ , and something more that wriggles away from River, washed out in a tide of dizziness and nausea that's coming not from Saffron, not from River herself, but another direction entirely, a familiar frequency that never quite leaves her, not entirely.

She gasps, clutching Zoe's arm for support. “Sick,” she manages to get out, turning on the sidewalk and swaying without rhythm. “Not me. Jayne. _Mal_.”

Zoe doesn't hesitate an instant, abandoning Saffron still standing at the fruit stall without a thought, supporting River's tottering progress back towards the bar, and even through her own panic and the rapidly fading pull of Mal's thoughts, River can feel the beat of Zoe's pulse, steady and even. Soothing.

“River?” Zoe asks, giving her shoulder a sharp squeeze. “What's goin' on? We gonna be walking into an ambush here?”

“Don't know,” River mumbles. “Fading away. Can't hear them anymore. Gone into darkness.”

“Can't say as that's reassuring,” Zoe says, releasing her hold on River to push open the tavern door, one hand hovering over her holster.

But the bar is peaceful, down to the thoughts within it, and Zoe's quiet interrogation of a barmaid sees them pointed with a smile to a back room.

“Said they were feeling a bit woozy, so they put 'em back here,” Zoe says into the gloom of the hallway, “but that sure ain't right, cause I never knew either of them to be a man couldn't hold his liquor.”

River has seen a flash of red hair in the barmaid's memories, and already knows the truth before they open the door, and before they open every other door they can find afterward.

Mal and Jayne are gone.

***

“We're gonna get 'em back, right?” Kaylee asks, and her voice is shrunken and dim with worry, small and forlorn in the wide space of the cargo bay.

“Of course we will, _bao bei_ ,” Inara tells her, taking Kaylee's hand, and River watches with detached jealousy, missing Zoe's firm presence beside her.

The two of them had spent a frantic half hour in the alleys behind the town's facades, coming up empty of any trail they could read, physically or mentally. They'd also spent fifteen highly instructive minutes behind The Temple, where River had pressed herself against the rough wood, splinters and paint flaking under her fingers. There had been some things she would have been happier not knowing (half a dozen new uses for food, three unexpected consequences of extreme flexibility, and a wide and startling variety of male body-hair patterns), and confirmation of one thing she'd suspected – their target was inside, though he hardly seemed aware of his own name, much less any desire to escape the place.

On their return to the ship, Zoe had taken Simon (bewildered and altogether hopeless, in River's opinion, but still their best option) to scout out The Temple's interior and operations. The yelp of his voice as they pulled away, asking, “You want me to do _what_?” had been less than comforting. Really, Simon could be so very old-fashioned.

The hum of the mule returning pulls River back into _now_ , into the voices being thrown into the ship's emptiness, attempting to stave off panic with plans.

“River was right,” Simon says, climbing down from the mule, feet landing with a clang. “They're claiming to be a registered Companion house, run by a woman called Ava Dixon.”

Inara is too controlled to snort, settles for a laugh that is a quiet huff. “Hardly. There's no Companion house on this planet, or on any planet within several days of here, for that matter.”

Zoe stands with her arms folded, surveying her troops. _Crazy paving_ , River thinks again. Make what you have be what you need. When Zoe speaks, her voice hasn't shrunk, isn't swallowed by the ship; it reverberates, and River thinks she can feel it, right through the soles of her boots. “It's illegal to pass yourself off as a Companion without a license, ain't that right?”

Inara nods. “Highly illegal. The Guild is very powerful; they've made certain the fines and prison terms are high enough to dissuade anyone from trying. Well, almost anyone, apparently.”

“Don't seem to be much that puts Saffron, or Ava, whatever she's calling herself now, off doin' anything.”

“And you still think she's behind all of this?” Simon asks. “You did say she didn't go anywhere near the bar where Jayne and the Captain were.”

“Spread her lies there before,” River says, sorting through the knots in her mind. “Not today. But the barmaid knew her. The likelihood of a coincidental relationship between these incidences is small enough to be negligible. Pieces are missing, but the whole remains the same.”

Simon doesn't even blink, just nods at her, and the ship seems a little less empty, River's mind less turbulent. “Alright, so we believe Saffron's involved, even if we don't know exactly how. What do we plan to do about it?”

“We got two different objectives, as I see it,” Zoe says, heading over to the weapons locker, gathering and loading, mapping out a strategy. “We need to get the Torsten kid out of that place, and we need to find and recover Captain and Jayne.”

River catches an unfurling, a drift curling up like smoke off incense, and turns to Inara before the other woman begins speaking.

“I think I have an idea,” Inara says, measuring up Kaylee with a practiced eye. “Though I'm not sure any of you will like it.”


	2. Inara

**_II. Inara_**  
“I ain't so sure 'bout this, Inara.” Kaylee's fingers move rhythmically, pleating the coral silk of her skirt until Inara grasps them firmly, looking her in the eye. “I don't think I can pull it off.”

 _The silence in the cargo bay had been unnerving, even for her, as Inara laid out her plan. “Kaylee, we'll dress you up like a Companion, with Simon as your client. That will give you two cover to search the rooms at The Temple for Ned Torsten.”_

 _“And where'll you be in all this?” Zoe had asked._

 _Inara smiled. “Making certain everyone else in that house has other things to think of.”_

“Of course you can.” Putting on her professional voice, Inara modulates her tone, seeking the right mix of comfort and confidence. “It's unlikely you'll actually have to do much pretending anyhow. I'll be distracting anyone important while you and Simon do the searching. It's simply to make you appear to fit in there. And I'm certain you will,” she says, catching Simon's eye over Kaylee's shoulder, hoping he's able to read his cues.

“Oh, of course you will,” he says, coming forward to pat Kaylee's shoulder. “The girls there aren't like Inara at all, you'll fit right in.”

Inara sends up a brief prayer – _renci de Fozu, let that man learn to say the right thing someday_ – as Kaylee stiffens and shrugs off Simon's hand. “Yeah, 'spose I will. After all, I'm just a girl from a backwater planet who mucks 'round in engines, right? Don't get much further from Inara than that. Think I'm ready to go now,” she says, turning in an impressive swirl of skirts and flouncing off into the shuttle's cockpit.

Simon runs a hand through his hair, disarranging its sleekness, and Inara finds herself tamping down the urge to soothe it back, the urge to control whatever small things she still can. “How am I still so bad at this?” he asks, his tone so full of disbelief she almost laughs.

“Don't worry, Simon. In fact, that was exactly what she needed – you've given her a focus for her negative feelings and an urge to prove you wrong, which will make her a far better actress than she would have been otherwise. Kaylee doesn't realize it,” she says, glancing at the dividing curtain and keeping her voice soft, “but she's quite a bit closer to a Companion than she thinks. She has an innate charm and warmth that makes people enjoy her company and want to open up to her; that's more than half the training right there.”

“But she's not,” he says, crossing his arms over his vest, his posture stiff enough to prevent wrinkles in these one-time everyday clothes, now serving as the costume of a wealthy client. “A Companion, I mean.”

Making her way to the front of the shuttle, Inara tosses a glance over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Jealous, Simon? I hardly think she's likely to start taking on clients after one night of playing pretend.”

Simon says nothing in response; he can't, of course, as they've come into the cockpit and so back into Kaylee's hearing. The art of timing is one well known to every Companion.

As Inara takes her seat, Kaylee standing behind giving Simon the type of look that says she won't be speaking to him until it's required for the job, Zoe's voice sounds over the com from the other shuttle. _“Inara, everyone ready over there?”_

“We're prepared, Zoe,” she says, letting routine take hold as she initiates the shuttle's flight sequence. “We all know our roles.”

 _“Be sure to land close to the place. Don't want to have to haul the kid far once you get him out of there. River 'n I'll be in contact once we find a trace of our men.”_

From the corner of her eye, Inara sees Kaylee touch the earpiece hidden underneath the fall of her hair and resists the desire to fiddle with her own, relying on the familiar patterns of flying to keep her hands steady. “Good luck,” she responds, voice smooth as glass as the shuttles detach, heading out for once to recover, rather than deliver, that which has been stolen.

Landing a few moments later near the rear of The Temple, Inara pins her best veil in place and with it, a layer of resolve and authority. Kaylee and Simon take up their positions, waiting at the rear entrance. She has three minutes now before Kaylee rewires the security system to let them in, a very short time in which to make a fuss impressive enough to distract any unoccupied employees on the ground floor.

But then, she thinks, knocking firmly on the front door, she has always been good at getting her desired results in short order. The _jian hou_ in charge of this place tonight isn't going to know what hit her.


	3. Kaylee

_**III. Kaylee**_  
“Kaylee...” The frantic edge to Simon's voice isn't helping her one bit, not any more than the hint of warmth along her back, where she can tell he's got his hands hovering uselessly, way they tend to do in any room that ain't the infirmary or her bunk. Not like she weren't worried enough as it was, with Jayne and the Captain getting themselves taken, without Simon getting his nerves all over her.

“Don't get your pants in a twist, Simon,” she says, peering closer at the little tangle of exposed wires alongside the door. “Just one second more...there, got it.” Giving the doorknob a good twist that don't lead to anything but an open door and a great big lot of silence, she almost grins back at Simon before she remembers she's awful mad at him, and she's got more work to do besides. Leaving him to catch the door for himself before it smacks him in his pretty face feels like the better option here, by far.

The kitchen the door opens into is nice and empty, probably cause Inara's clear voice is ringing out from the front rooms with that icy sharp tone she usually saves for squabbling with the Captain. “Well, it's certainly a pity Ms Dixon isn't in tonight. As the owner of this... _establishment_ , I'm certain she'd be interested in hearing all about the penalties that accompany not being able to produce a license for a Guild inspector on demand.” A quieter voice that sounds more like squeaking than talking offers up something in return, and then Inara's speaking again, the smile in her voice sounding dangerous as a loaded gun in Jayne's hands. “Oh no, I'm afraid that simply won't do...”

Kaylee lets herself grin for a second, almost wishing she was out there watching Inara put on her show, cause that's got to be one hell of a sight. But she's got her own job to do, and sooner she can get it over with and get back to _Serenity_ , the better. Normally she'd be bouncing with glee at being lent some of Inara's pretty things, all done up like a fine lady, but just now she's too jumpy to take much pleasure in it. Besides, this dress don't have enough ruffles on it for her taste anyhow, being fit more for Zoe, all full of slink.

Simon catches up with her at the top of the back staircase, peering along a hallway that's decorated terrible gaudy-like, even by her standards. Somehow the same kind of reds and golds that look so fancy and elegant in Inara's shuttle just look cheap and tacked on here, like a bad patch job on a junk engine.

Also, there's a lot more doors than she was expecting, and River didn't have any clues to give them on exactly which room they ought to be looking in.

“So...” Simon says from over her shoulder, the clean spicy scent of him managing, for the moment, to overcome the place's general air of sex and perfume, “do we have a plan?”

Kaylee shrugs, cause while she ain't got much of a plan, seems to her the Captain never does either, and he always comes out of things just fine in the end. Well, mostly fine; sometimes with a couple bullet holes and the like, but it's probably best not to be thinking about that just now.

“Keep your hands on me and act like you want me, if that ain't too difficult for you,” she says, starting off down the hallway before he's got time for any protests, and it's almost gratifying, the way he catches right up and wraps an arm around her waist. A little stiff, sure, but she can work with it, especially when he lowers his mouth to nibble on her neck when she stops at the first door. Seems like she's taught him some things in all this time after all.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm down various bits of herself, she throws open the door to find, not the guy they're looking for, but a whole lot of naked female backside instead. “Whoops, sorry about that.” Trying the door opposite finds her confronted with much the same picture, and she's on her way again with a breezy, “Sorry, don't mind me, new girl here,” tossed over her shoulder.

“Kaylee,” Simon hisses into her ear, his arm around her quite a bit tighter now, “tell me your plan isn't to just open every door here until you find the right one.”

Sticking her head through the next door, she's barely got time to get out, “Keep up what you're doin' there, lookin' fine,” before Simon yanks her back. “Course that's my plan. You got a better one?”

She pauses a second longer at the next room, cause she likes to think of herself as an adventurous girl in certain areas of life, but that's a thing even she ain't seen before, so in the end it's Simon who chokes out, “Excuse us,” and reaches past her to pull the door shut again.

“Wish I had a capture with me,” she says, thoughts maybe a little further than they oughta be from the job.

“Kaylee!”

“What? They're doin' things in there I never even got to dreamin' of! 'Spose it's just like machinery, really, fittin' the parts together in different ways,” she muses.

“Oh, come on. You can work out the technical aspects later, when we're safe on the ship, rather than making complete fools of ourselves in...in a place like this,” he says, giving her a gentle nudge in the direction of the next door.

“A whorehouse, Simon. You can say it, word ain't gonna bite you,” she teases.

Simon looks like he's not real certain this entire place isn't about to jump out and bite him, actually, but that don't stop her from reaching out and opening the next door anyhow.

It ain't much of a sight, after what they've seen all along the hallway, but it's what they've been looking for, so it still seems awful impressive to Kaylee. Not that the sight of a boy about River's age passed out on a bed is so special, but he's got more than half his clothes on and he seems alive and whole from what she can see, so all in all it's more than good enough for her.

The girl sitting next to the bed ain't such a welcome sight, but it's too much to hope they'd leave the kid totally unguarded. “Hey, who're you?” she demands, getting up from her seat.

“New girl,” Kaylee says, hoping she can keep a straight face, cause acting's never been her strong suit and she can feel giggles bubbling up in her throat already. “Ms Dixon said I was supposed to sit with him tonight.”

“Really,” the girl says, hands on her hips. “And who's he then?” She jerks her chin in Simon's direction, managing with a look to make it clear both that she don't think he belongs here for one second, and that she'd be happy to take him elsewhere in a hurry. Funny, but Kaylee's not feeling the urge to giggle so much anymore.

“Who do I look like?” Simon asks, and his voice is smug and smooth for all she knows he's a worse liar than she is. Maybe all he needs is the right kind of lies to tell.

The girl's smiling at him now in a way that's got more than a hint of promise in it. “You look like a whole lotta well-paying fun, honey. I'd be glad to take him off your hands for you,” she says, turning to Kaylee.

“My hands are more'n capable of takin' care of him. I'm learnin' to multitask,” Kaylee says, pushing the other woman towards the door. “Might want to head downstairs anyhow, there's some big ruckus goin' on down there. Some fancy lady talkin' about lawbreaking and such.”

The girl turns and hurries off at that, and Kaylee hasn't seen anybody move so fast since...well, since the last time Jayne had a gun pointed at the backside of some poor _hun dan_ , come to think of it.

Unfortunately, Ned Torsten don't look much like moving at all. Simon's bending over him, taking the time even now to pry at the kid's eyelids and feel for his pulse, cause lord knows he can't ever pass up a person lying prone without poking away at them.

“He's been drugged,” he says, looking up Kaylee, using that clipped professional tone she hates. “I doubt he'll be able to walk, certainly not as fast as we'd like him to.”

“Well then haul him up and let's get outta here,” she says, taking a peek out the door. “He ain't so big, we'll manage.”

Ned's eyes open as Simon pulls him off the bed, draping an unresisting arm over his shoulders. “What's going on?” he says, and if Kaylee'd had any doubts about Simon's opinion of the kid's state before, she sure don't now, his words are so slurred.

“Hey, no,” he moans, making an effort to push Simon off, though he don't get very far, seeing as how he's weaker than a wet kitten. “I _like_ it here. Lotsa pretty girls.”

“We got pretty girls too,” Kaylee says firmly, marching up and taking his other arm across her own shoulders. “Prettiest one you ever did see, waiting right outside for us.”

Ned smiles up at her, and it's sorta endearing, or at least it might be when he's sober and don't smell like a whorehouse, cause he's a sweet enough looking guy. “You're _pretty_ ,” he says, real earnestly, like he's telling her some grand secret. “I'll go with you. But not him.”

“Sure thing,” she says, pulling him along towards the door, giving Simon a look behind the kid's head that she hopes says loud and clear, _just let go, I can handle him on my own_.

It does the job well enough, cause Simon just looks at her and then lets go, and Ned flops up against her, making her wish Inara's dresses weren't cut quite so low. Staggering with him towards the staircase, she hopes both that Inara's still holding court downstairs and that Mal won't make too much of a fuss if he hears she _accidentally_ kinda dropped their target down a flight of stairs. It might not be much of a plan, but for now, it's what she's got.


	4. Zoe

**_IV. Zoe_**  
In the short time it takes flying the shuttle into town, Zoe occupies herself thinking of all the little ways she's planning to take this out on Mal once they get him back safe. Isn't like she hasn't had to pull his _pi gu_ out of the fire more times than she can count, way that man attracts trouble, but she's usually got a good bit more backup than a half-sane girl she's still a bit wary of trusting. Not that she's got any cause to deny River's effectiveness, and the way the girl looks at her sometimes does kinda pull at the heartstrings, but it's still a chilling thought to know River's the best, and only, fighter she's got with her.

Inara's voice crackles out after wishing them good luck. Zoe doesn't bother to return the favor, hoping like hell they won't have to depend on luck, considering the kind they tend to have. She'll depend on skill alone, and if that can't get her where she needs to be, then she don't deserve to be there, way she sees it.

The sun's starting to set when they land, and in the dim light she can just make out River smiling next to her. “You play with loaded dice,” she says, slim hands twisting together like she's trying to keep from reaching out. “I'll come up sixes tonight. No gambling needed.”

“See that you do,” Zoe says, making her way out of the shuttle and into the twilight. “We don't have room to be making mistakes.”

When they duck into the bar the boys disappeared from, seeing as it's the only lead they got right now, Zoe feels River go stiff behind her for a second, and finds herself with a hand at her holster before she's even thinking on it.

“That woman, behind the bar, with the wheat-field hair,” River says, quiet against her ear. “She was here then. Caught Jayne's eye.” She pauses for a second, eyes narrowing like she's caught sight of something ugly, like Jayne's face in the morning. Or Jayne's face at night, come to that. “She knows Saffron.”

Zoe eyes up the woman behind the bar, taking in her abundant lot of platinum blonde curls, along with a whole lot of other assets that make her popularity with the customers easy to understand. “She the one who got them out of here?”

River frowns, her head tilting a bit. “No. Instigated the process, but didn't complete it. Not her job. She knows things, though.”

“Well then,” Zoe says, hand still firmly over her holster, “let's find out just what she knows.”

The blonde's got a smile on her face when they sit down in front of her, but Zoe didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed when she first saw them. “And what can I get for you ladies?” she asks, eyes darting between them before fixing firmly on Zoe.

“Pair of menfolk that got left here earlier today,” Zoe says, figuring small talk isn't going to get them anywhere fast. “Thinking you might have some idea of where they've got to, and why.”

The smile falls off the woman's face with those words, and for a second it looks like she's thinking of turning her back on them, before Zoe notices the way she's craning her neck and realizes she's scouting the room. “I know who you mean. But not out here,” she says low, leaning across the bar before she ducks out from behind it and heads for the back hallway.

“Safe to follow,” River murmurs, coming up like a ghost at Zoe's side. She's not sure what's more disturbing, the fact that for all her experience and planning, things are coming down to the word of this girl, or the fact that she's willing to trust that word completely.

The back room's dark and dingy and exactly what Zoe'd expect from a place like this. Sitting in the light of a dim lamp, the blonde lights a cigarette, gesturing with a flame to a pair of chairs. Zoe keeps a hand at her hip as she sits down, and the other woman raises an eyebrow.

“I know y'all can't be foolish enough to think on shooting me, what with there being a couple dozen men out there who like nothing better than a good fight,” she says, pushing a bright curl back, “so there's no need for the show. I'm willing to play along.”

“So you'll be telling us where our men are, then,” Zoe says, deliberately expressionless.

The blonde shrugs. “Would if I could. They were here earlier, sure enough, if they're the ones I'm thinking on – couple of big guys, handsome enough, more guns than brains? - but after they left here, well...” she spreads her hands out and blows a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

“What name do you use?” River interrupts, yanking Zoe's mind off how much she hates cigarette smoke and back into wishing River'd keep herself out of this conversation. “And how do you know the red-haired thief woman? I can't complete the picture.”

“My name's Lavender, sweetheart,” the blonde says, turning her eyes to River. “And by red-haired thief I'm gonna assume you mean my dear sister, cause I don't know many women who'd fit that description.”

“Saffron's your sister?” Zoe asks, a bit curious in spite of herself.

“Saffron?” Lavender snorts. “Not her usual type of name, but she's got a million of 'em. Goes by Ava 'round here. But yeah, she's my sister. And she came around early this morning, 'fore your people showed up here, and told me if they came in, I should make sure they weren't in any position to leave.”

“So you drugged 'em,” Zoe says, leaning forward just the slightest bit. “And why you tellin' us this now?”

Smoke curls through the air as Lavender waves her cigarette around, looking a bit tetchy. “Cause she's always doing this to me. Showing up out of nowhere, promising things are gonna be different this time, that she ain't gonna get me in trouble again, and then a couple months down the road, where do I end up but sitting in my own bar with a gun to my head, or with a lawman in front of me, trying to talk my way outta her mess. Had more'n enough of it.”

She glares at the two of them, and Zoe hopes like hell River won't think this a good time for using that logic of hers and pointing out that none of this is their fault. “Took me years to build up this place for myself, and I ain't getting brought down from it. So yeah, I did what she said and drugged them, left them back here. She sent one of her own men to get them, I'm sure, cause they were gone when I thought to look next, and that's all I know.”

Glancing over at River, Zoe finds the girl's on the edge of her seat, chin in hand like it's the most fascinating tale she ever heard. _You'd tell me if she were lying, right?_ , she thinks, as loud as possible. River nods without turning her head, and Zoe figures she'll just have to hope that's meant for her.

“And you got no idea where she took them?” Zoe asks, crossing her arms.

Lavender shrugs once more, stabbing out the end of her cigarette. “She's running a fancy whorehouse down the road, might be there.”

“They aren't,” River says, very quietly, and it's to Lavender's credit that she takes notice of that, sitting up a bit straighter. Least the woman's smart enough to know danger when she hears it. “Where else is there?”

Their breathing seems loud in the silence that follows, till Lavender breaks the gaze River's got her locked into and stares off into the shadows. “There's an old farmhouse, six miles or so west of town. Belonged to her and her husband. Well, her _first_ husband.”

“Dare I ask what happened to him?” Zoe asks, standing up, River at her side immediately.

“Dead,” Lavender says flatly. “And I don't know anything about _that_ , either.”

“Didn't figure you did,” Zoe says. She takes a whole two steps towards the door before she notices River's not following, choosing to stand in front of Lavender instead.

“Give back what you stole,” River says, and for all she's got such a girlish voice, there's a world of hurt in her tone.

It's enough to make Lavender pause in the act of lighting another cigarette, before she moves to a panel on the wall that opens on a safe.

“Can't blame a girl for trying,” she says, handing over a very familiar set of guns to River.

Tucking Mal's gun into her own belt, River hands Jayne's over to Zoe at the door. “Now we can go.”

“Tell my sister I said goodbye,” Lavender's voice calls out, trailing behind them in a cloud of smoke.

***

“Alright, you understand the plan?”

Zoe senses, rather than sees, River nodding in the dark. “Shoot anything that doesn't appear to be Jayne or Mal, yes, ma'am.”

“Good, then – did you just call me ma'am?”

“Shouldn't I? I could use sir, if you'd prefer. But you are my commanding officer on this mission.”

Crouched outside a farmhouse so old it's near falling apart, in the dark, with a girl in a gunbelt and flowered dress beside her, it occurs to Zoe that she's not felt this much like her old self in far too long. “Ma'am'll do fine. You got any reading from in there?”

“Two active minds,” River says promptly. “And one dull and hazy, full of irritation. That one's Mal.”

“One of those others Jayne?”

“No. But he might be going without thought at the moment.”

Tightening her grip on her gun, Zoe hopes that's just River's way of saying he's probably still out cold. She might not care overmuch for Jayne, but he's still better than having to find themselves a new merc. “Alright, let's move.”

As it turns out, getting into the place is no trouble, and neither is finding Jayne, cause he's snoring fit to wake the dead.

“At least he's still alive,” River whispers, though the face she's making at him suggests he might end up otherwise if that racket he's making keeps up.

It's that racket Zoe blames for her not hearing any footsteps; first she knows of Saffron's impending arrival is River going stiff, gun leveled at the door.

“I was beginning to think no one was going to show,” Saffron says, and Zoe's dead certain that woman's got a smug look on her face she'd like to punch right off it. Only problem with that is she can hardly see Saffron's face, on account of Mal being held in front of her with a gun to his head. “Drop the guns, ladies. I know you value this man – though I can't imagine why – so if you don't want to see his brains decorating the wall, you'll do what I say.”

“Thought you didn't kill people,” Zoe says, tossing her gun aside, hearing the clatter as River does the same.

“And I thought you weren't as stupid as your Captain here,” Saffron says, shoving Mal up against the doorframe, still keeping herself shielded safe behind him. “You'll have to excuse him for not trying to play the big manly hero for you, he's still a little woozy from his adventures earlier today. Honestly, doesn't anyone teach men they ought to watch their drinks?”

“You won't kill him,” River says, and Zoe hopes she's half as confident of that as she sounds. “It's the one thing you're truly proud of, never having killed anyone.”

“I'm sorry, who the hell are you?” Saffron snaps, looking River up and down.

River smiles, and even in this dim light it's a chilling sight. “I'm the one who'll kill you if you do him any more harm.”

“Fair certain I'd let her, too,” Zoe says, following River's lead, trying to get Saffron off-balance. “And we already got the kid back, safe on our ship. You'd best be making a run for it before the rest of our crew shows up.” Hearing Inara's voice over the com letting them know they had the target acquired and back on _Serenity_ had been a high point in the evening, seeing as how it gave Zoe a bit of ammunition.

Saffron laughs, the sound of it brittle and harsh. “Please. Like I actually cared about that _sha gua_. He was just a means to an end, which in this case meant a whole lot of platinum drained off his daddy's bank accounts. I was finished with him anyhow. All I needed was a few extra hours to complete the process, which grabbing these two morons got me.”

The sound of Jayne's snoring still makes up enough background noise that Zoe feels robbed of her hearing, especially when she notices River's fingers plucking at her skirt, gathering it at one hip in a nervous motion, and wishes she knew what the girl's hearing that she can't.

“Not that I wasn't pleased to see my darling husband here,” Saffron continues, jabbing her gun into Mal's back hard enough that he slumps further against the doorframe, barely keeping on his feet, “but as I recall, the last time I met up with you _niao shi de du gui_ , you left me in a fucking dumpster to get picked up by the police. Did you really think I'd forgotten that?”

“You planning on doing something 'bout it? We already discussed you not killin' people,” Zoe says, fingers itching to reach around to her back and pull out Jayne's gun, shoot that smug look right off her face.

“Oh, I won't,” Saffron says, eyes all wide and innocent. “But _he_ will.”

The glance Zoe risks back over her shoulder reveals a guy who reminds her of nothing so much as that first henchman of Niska's, an ugly mountain of muscle and menace.

Course, that's only a brief kind of impression, since he doesn't get any further than the back doorway before River's hand moves in a blur and shoots him in the head with Mal's gun. Zoe'd learned early on in the war that any soldier who goes into battle with just one weapon deserves to get killed, and River'd nodded along in sage agreement with that as she'd strapped Mal's gun to her thigh in the shuttle.

It's only when she turns back and sees the grenade flying in an arc from Saffron's hand that Zoe remembers another thing she learned in the war – never does pay to underestimate your opponent.

Then there's nothing but brilliant light, and unending sound.

***

“You couldn't have _said_ something?” Zoe yells, knowing her voice is raised way too high, but still only hearing it distantly, like through water.

“I didn't know! She was _thinking_ grenade,” River insists, her high voice barely managing to work past the ringing in Zoe's ears. “Didn't specify what type.”

“I hate flash-bangs,” Zoe mutters, or thinks she does, at least. “Think he'd wake up if we lit him on fire?” she asks, prodding Jayne with her foot. Pouring a pail of rainwater over him hadn't done a bit of good, and wouldn't it figure that the one sound she could still hear loud and clear was his snoring.

River appears to give it serious consideration, before pointing out sadly that they had no matches, leaving Zoe with no choice but to rub the lingering spots from her eyes and start hauling Jayne by his feet. Not that she'd ever let anyone call her weak, but probably the only one on the ship had a chance of holding Jayne upright when he couldn't do it himself was the Captain, and seeing as how he was currently putting most of his weight on River and blinking at them like he wasn't any too sure who they were, she'd just have to do her best.

Watching River stumble sideways a few steps, even her perfect balance upset by Mal's more or less dead weight, Zoe's none too sure they'll even make it back to the shuttle. Landing so far off seemed the reasonable thing to do at the time, not wanting to attract attention, but that's feeling a little less wise with every step.

“The journey should be within our limits,” River says. “Continuous support is possible even if lifting isn't. As long as I can keep him on his feet, his weight is manageable.”

One look at the girl's determined face leaves Zoe without the need to ask if she can keep Mal on his feet.

“Why do you hate cigarette smoke?” River asks, after a long period of silence filled with nothing more than a couple groans out of Jayne.

It's on the tip of her tongue to ask, _don't you know already?_ , but something in River's expression stops her, the hopeful look of curiosity letting Zoe know either River's a mighty fine actress, or she truly wants to be told the answer like a regular person, rather than hearing something unsaid.

So she looks up at the stars instead, and answers. “In the Valley, those days we were sittin' there, waiting for somebody to come get us – didn't have a whole lot of food, or water, or anything else that'd be much use, but we did have a whole lot of cigarettes. Smoked 'em constantly, trying to keep the smell of death away. Didn't work so well.”

“Now when you smell cigarettes, you smell death,” River finishes, and she watches Zoe's face steadily till Mal stumbles, pulling her attention away.

“Mal smells like alcohol,” River offers, and Zoe thinks she understands this awkward attempt at conversation, a thing neither one of them are too good at.

“Jayne smells like...feet,” she responds, doing her part to tell River, as best she can, _yes, little one, we can be friends_.

River giggles, and smiles wide enough that it's plain to see, even by starlight. “I got the better end of things, I think,” she says, and then somehow manages to bounce a bit, even with the Captain's weight on her shoulder, cause _lao tian_ , the shuttle's finally come into view.

Neither of them says much of anything after that, not until they're docking with _Serenity_ and River lays a hand on Zoe's shoulder.

“You're everything,” she says. “Everything I want to be. Loyal and strong, smart and brave and beautiful. You fill up your place, always. You think I don't like you sometimes, but it isn't true. I wanted you to know.”

She slips away, quick as a bird, and Zoe's barely got to time to call after her, “River? I was proud to work with you today.”

River turns and smiles, hand on the door. “Thank you, ma'am.”


	5. Serenity

_**V. Serenity**_  
Footsteps, and voices. Hands on the walls, fingers working controls.

In the infirmary, the gun-man, laid out and snoring, and a boy, young, blonde and lithe. An outsider who doesn't understand it here and doesn't like it here, waking from one kind of fog into another. He'll not stay long, but he's no danger, and so of no account. The doctor doesn't think so either, the sound of his voice gone wry as he speaks to the boy, and the air through the vents laughs with him.

“He snores worse than a drunken whore!” the boy protests.

“Can't say as I've ever had the pleasure,” says the doctor, prepping one of his multitude of needles.

“You're missing out,” There's something wistful in the boy's tone, longing for a different kind of world expelled on a heavy sigh. “So stupid – I honestly thought she liked me. My father's going to _kill_ me.”

Rising above, into the engine, her glowing heart. Her caretaker is there, hair pinned and curled, face decorated with colors not of her native element. But there's a wrench in her hand, and a smile on her face, and her touch soothes as always, warm and knowing, sharing her life, imbuing it in every spot her fingers reach. The Companion stands in the doorway, borrowed dress over her arm, watching with eyes full of tranquil love.

“It sounds as though you made quite a good Companion, Kaylee. You had the strength to direct events to unfold as you needed them to, and the wit to not make that completely obvious.”

The other woman wipes a smudge of black into her overalls and sits in her hammock, swinging with the engine's turning. “Guess I get a lot of practice. 'Tween getting _Serenity_ and Simon to do what I need 'em to, I mean. And the Captain, sometimes.”

There is laughter here, warmth and goodness, and the engine hums and purrs out in pleasure.

Slim hands around the helm, familiar bodies on the bridge, and a red-haired woman smugly waving on the cortex.

“That woman never does stop gloating, does she?” The Captain isn't quite right; not trying to take control, sitting with his legs stretched out, hand to his head.

“Nope.” His first mate stands behind him, hands resting loose at the back of the chair, not offering aid but containing it all the same. “Think we should've told her all those bank accounts had their funds marked, and she's like to get picked up first place she tries to use 'em?”

“Nah.” He turns his chair just slightly, just enough so he can smile up at her, that crooked grin that says everything without his saying a word more. All of them know what he'd say anyhow, one way or another. “By the by,” he says, standing up, needing help from nobody but the ship herself, knuckles white for a moment on the console, “one of you happen to have my gun? I don't fancy having to chase that woman 'cross the 'verse for it.”

The girl-pilot rises at this, feet bare on the floor, fingers moving from helm to flesh, skimming up under her skirt and returning in a flash of metal, offered from her hand to his. “I had to borrow it,” she says. “But I was careful to keep it very close.”

The Captain blinks, fingers tight on his ship again. “Can see that you did,” he says, in a voice that's gotten all caught up.

“We keep what's yours safe,” she says, smoothly folding herself back into her seat, hands to the helm, competent and certain.

The ship rises under her control, and _Serenity_ shivers, flashing golden bright across the sky, flying fast, free and clear.


End file.
